A Better Tomorrow
by Silver Dog Demon
Summary: Season 4 AU in which Daryl catches the virus plaguing the prison community and Carol takes care of him through those dark days.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **This has been in my fic folder since around 4x02. I've been working on this little angst-tastic crapfest in bits and pieces for the last few months. Unfortunately, writing has been taking forever lately (_thank you _season 4) and the season has shot this all to hell. Oh well, I just wanted me some sick angsty Daryl and sweet caretaker Carol so I guess it completely disregards other current events, making it very AU. Also, Carol is not in charge of Lizzy and Mika – she would not risk her health if she had two little girls to look after.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the characters; I am merely borrowing them and will return them when I'm done.

**A Better Tomorrow**

Daryl choked back a cough, hoping it was just dust in his lungs from digging graves yesterday. He ignored the way his whole body ached, blaming it on dragging bodies out of the prison, digging graves, and mending the fence. He couldn't be sick. No, Daryl Dixon wasn't going out choking on his own blood from the goddamn _flu_. No fucking way.

Just to be safe he kept his distance from everyone, giving them a greater berth than usual, even his makeshift family. Daryl kept his head low, avoided food prep areas, and talked even less than he usually did. Most everyone either didn't notice his distance or chalked it up to him being cautious. Well, everyone but Carol. She noticed his slower movements, pale sweaty skin, and tired eyes. But she too chalked it up to recent events, hoping against hope that's all it was and ignoring the sinking feeling in her gut.

Daryl made his way up to his cell, dropping his crossbow and sitting heavily on the bunk, rubbing his tired eyes. Exhaustion was creeping in and he felt sleep pulling at him. He knew wanting to sleep in the middle of the day wasn't just unusual for him, it was a total anomaly. But he couldn't fight the fatigue setting in, making his limbs heavy. Dinner wasn't for another couple hours and he didn't have anywhere to be currently so Daryl let himself relax into sleep, sinking into the thin mattress and closing his eyes.

-TWD-

When dinnertime found their hunter absent, Carol took it upon herself to find him. It didn't take long since she started her search at his cell. Carol was shocked to find him asleep on his bunk and the knot she'd been ignoring grew tighter. He was curled up on his side, with his back to the door and she could see from where she was standing that his shirt was sweat-soaked, skin still shining with perspiration, and his breathing was heavy – Carol had heard it even before she reached the doorway to his cell. Knowing better than to approach him, she knocked on the metal frame.

"Daryl?" She called softly and he stirred; it seemed he was still a light sleeper. Carol only felt slightly relieved; she knew something wasn't right but still clung onto hope that she was wrong. Daryl rolled over and cracked his eyes open. "Mornin' sleepy head," she teased but Daryl couldn't even bring himself to smirk.

"Time is it?" He mumbled, sitting up and pushing fingers through slick hair. His head was pounding and the aching in his body had only gotten worse. The time of denial was nearly up.

"Dinnertime . . ." Carol started to offer to bring him a meal but stopped. Scared as she was, she couldn't afford to pretend he was fine when he clearly wasn't. "You're sick," she stated simply.

The words hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity until Daryl lifted his head and his eyes met hers before nodding and dropping his head again. The brief glimpse Carol got of his eyes scared her even more than the flu epidemic currently afflicting their community. He wasn't scared, he wasn't angry, he wasn't sad. He was weary, tired, _resigned _to his fate. There was no fight in him.

A lump formed in her throat but she swallowed it down. Carol couldn't blame him for losing hope, not really. No one had survived the sickness yet and she knew Daryl wasn't the hoping and praying kind anyway. He had no reason to believe he'd make it out of this. But Carol wasn't content to just let him go. She would do for him what he had done for her when Sophia had gone missing: she would be his hope, his belief in a better tomorrow despite the terrible odds. A fool's hope, perhaps, but she couldn't let it go anymore than he could with Sophia.

"Let's get you downstairs," Carol said.

Daryl nodded and stood before swaying dangerously on his feet as his head spun. His hand met the wall and he steadied himself, putting a hand up to stop Carol from helping him. After regaining some sense of balance, Daryl grabbed the black bandana hanging on the bed post and tied it around his face and pulled on a pair of gloves before moving to leave his cell. He skirted around Carol, trying to keep his distance.

Unfortunately, his body was working against him. Each step he took drained more and more of his waning energy; he was dragging his feet and leaning heavily on the rail. Carol followed him closely despite his desire to keep her at a safe distance. When Daryl finally made it to the stairs he was sorely tempted to just throw himself down them he was so damn tired. His head was pounding, eyes seeing double, and limbs felt heavier than lead. How the hell was he going to make it all the way to solitary? He didn't know but sucked it up anyway and put one foot down on the top step. Then everything went black.

Daryl's body could take no more and he passed out, knees buckling beneath him and he lurched forward. Thankfully Carol was paying close attention, one hand grabbed his shirt and the other wrapped around his chest, trying to reverse the forward momentum before his weight dragged them both down the stairs. She succeeded, his back slammed into her chest and they both fell backward, leaving Carol sitting at the top of the stairs with an unconscious Daryl in her lap. She was holding onto him tightly, fingers clutching his shirt while her heart pounded furiously in her chest, still in shock over what just happened.

"RICK!" Carol yelled, not really caring who came, she just really needed help getting Daryl down the stairs and into quarantine. She could feel that he was still breathing, although it was labored. Placing a hand on his forehead told her the fever was burning him up; the sickness was hitting him hard.

Both Rick and Glenn came running into the cell block followed by Maggie, Hershel, Michonne, and Carl. It didn't take them long to deduce what happened given Daryl's haggard appearance and lack of consciousness; their faces became grim. Carol wanted to slap those looks away, those terrible expressions of sadness and mourning as if he was already dead and gone. She wasn't ready to give up yet, why were they so quick to accept it?

The only ones looking concerned but not hopeless were Rick and Michonne, their own friendships with Daryl keeping them from accepting the inevitable just yet. Rick ascended the stairs quickly and crouched next to Carol, sliding an arm between her and Daryl to pick him up. Glenn followed him up the stairs and stopped at Daryl's feet.

"Are you alright?" Rick asked, glancing at her.

"Yes, I'm fine. Worry about him."

He nodded and leaned Daryl forward so Carol could slip out from behind him and he took her place, hooking his arms around Daryl's shoulders while Glenn got his legs. Carefully, they lifted him up and slowly made their way down the stairs and to the quarantine cells, Carol following along closely. It was a long and slow journey but it was only just beginning.

-TWD-

_He fled down a short narrow hall before making a sharp left turn and slamming a door behind him. His daddy was coming and he had little time. He should have just kept his stupid mouth shut. Daryl had known his father was already half-lit and looking for an excuse to go off on him but that hadn't stopped him from opening his big mouth. Daddy had asked him to grab the next six pack from the fridge and, unfortunately, "Ain't you had enough?" mumbled under his breath was the wrong answer._

_Daryl tried to squirm his way underneath his bed like he'd done so many times before but his ten-year-old growing body now made it impossible, half of him was now wedged between the mattress and floor, the other half in plain sight. He could hear the squeaking floorboards in the hall signaling his father's rapid approach. Maybe he could make it out the window in time?_

_Daryl wriggled his way out from underneath his bed only to find himself frozen in terror as his bedroom door swung open. The eldest Dixon towered over his youngest son and Daryl could only look up at him with wide eyes and baited breath. Time was up and now he was in for it._

"_Tryin' ta hide like a little pussy weren' ya?" His old man slurred and took a step forward, swaying slightly. Daryl took a step back, his eyes dropping to the floor and face turning red from shame. "Ain't nuthin' but a worthless little coward are ya?"_

_Daryl remained silent, eyes glued to the floor as his fear spiked. Nothing he said or did could stop what was coming so he stayed quiet and kept his head down. A sharp smack to his face sent him sprawling to the floor with a yelp._

"_Answer me when I'm talkin' to ya, boy," his father growled and Daryl heard the dreaded sound of the belt coming off._

_Panic overtook him and he frantically tried to crawl away only for his daddy to snatch his ankle and drag him back. He was stripped of his shirt before a large hand wrapped around his neck, keeping his face pressed to the floor; his legs were trapped underneath the large frame of his father. Daryl whimpered and whined knowing the pain that lie ahead. His heart was beating frantically, blood rushing behind his ears, and he was having trouble breathing. He was taking in quick, shallow breaths and it felt as if he wasn't getting any air, the weight of his father was too much. The panic and fear increased tenfold. His father was going to kill him! He couldn't breathe! He couldn't-_

"Daryl!" Carol was trying to wake him from an obvious nightmare as coughs wracked his body. She had a hand on his chest trying to shake him awake. "Come on Daryl, wake up!"

His eyes opened but he was seeing ice cold steel blues and the Devil's grin hovering over him, the rough hand on his throat getting even tighter as his coughing worsened. Daryl tried pulling away but he was too weak to move. Carol saw the panic in his eyes and backed off.

"Daryl, it's alright, it's just me. It's Carol," she said in a soothing voice. "It's okay, it's okay."

The imagined hand around his throat eased up as his coughing fit subsided. The monster began to fade as his vision cleared and he became lucid again, calming down. Where the fuck had that nightmare come from? It'd been a _long_ time since he'd had one like that. As if coughing his lungs out wasn't miserable enough, his delirious mind saw fit to torture him with the worst shit it could come up with.

His whole chest wall was _aching_ from the coughing, his muscles and bones screaming in protest with every move. His throat was as raw as sandpaper, not even water could soothe it. And his fever was still extremely high, keeping his skin hot and sweaty. Daryl tried sitting up to get his bearings but a gentle hand kept him down.

"Shhh, it's alright, just lie back."

Daryl was too tired to fight and relaxed. The light in the cell was dim and flickering against the concrete walls; a candle. He heard the sound of water and turned his head to see Carol sitting beside him, wringing out a cloth in a bucket before pressing it to his forehead. It soothed his burning skin for only a few moments before his body heat warmed it up. She pulled the cloth away and dipped it in the water again.

"You've been out since dinnertime, it's the middle of the night," Carol pressed the cloth against his forehead again.

"Shouldn' be here . . ." he mumbled, eyes closing at the minimal relief.

"Too late," Carol replied wryly. She knew he wouldn't want to risk her getting sick too but she couldn't walk away from him, couldn't just leave him alone to die or get better all by himself. Whatever the outcome, Carol wanted to be there. He'd spent enough time in his life alone; he didn't need to be alone now. Daryl didn't have the energy to argue and figured even if he did, he'd still lose so he kept quiet. "Do you want to try eating something?"

"Mm," he hummed the affirmative, too tired to form actual words. Thankfully Carol knew what he meant and grabbed a bowl of soup she'd brought down for him, heating it up by holding it over the candle. He wasn't all that hungry but he figured he'd give it a shot anyway.

Sitting up was a chore, his arms shaky and weak with his torso protesting the movement. Carol waited patiently, respecting his need for independence and keeping his pride intact. Once he managed to sit up she handed him the bowl and a spoon. His hands were shaky but he'd be damned if he was gonna get spoon fed his dinner like some baby so he managed a shaky first sip. The warm broth soothed his sore throat and he managed another bite before giving up on the spoon completely and bringing the bowl to his mouth, sipping it slowly.

"Hershel mentioned a veterinary school earlier. Said it might have the meds we need so I think Rick's planning a run with Bob and Michonne tomorrow."

"How far?" Daryl asked, his voice raspy.

"He said it's about fifty miles north so the run will probably take a day or two," Carol answered. Daryl sighed and dropped the bowl to his lap. He hated the idea of anyone risking their life for him, even after all this time. "Hey," Carol said sternly, "if the roles were reversed you would have been going on that run too. And they're not going just for you, we've got other sick, remember?"

Daryl couldn't argue that but his face remained glum.

"If you want to have a pity party, have it because you're _sick_, not because people care enough about you to get what you need," Carol said, voice soft but stern. She wasn't angry with him but she did want to get through to him and those voices in his head that still whispered he wasn't good enough.

"Jus' not used to it . . ." he said quietly, looking down. He'd been sick or in need of medical attention plenty of times before but Daryl was used to taking care of himself. His momma and Merle weren't around to take care of him and his daddy sure as hell wasn't gonna. Despite everything he'd been through with the group in the last year and a half, having them take care of him was still a pretty foreign concept.

Carol's face softened and she placed her hand over his arm. She understood all too well what he meant, having been her own caretaker for many years despite being married.

"Well, get used to it. It's what family does," she smiled softly at him and his lips quirked up in a barely-there smile. "Get some rest, I'll be in the cell across the hall. Either I or Hershel will be in to check on you in a couple hours. Call if you need anything." He nodded and she grabbed his bowl before retreating from his cell to let him rest. Daryl was out before she even got through the door.

-TWD-

Unfortunately, restful sleep didn't last long. Daryl's fever had him feeling like he was boiling from the inside out and then freezing cold with chills. When hot, he tossed and turned trying to find any cool spot he could, kicking the blankets to the floor, pressing himself against the concrete wall, and rolling from one side of the bed to the other too many times to count. Then when the chills hit, he wound up underneath a pile of blankets until he got hot again.

When Hershel came in to check on him and give him some elderberry tea, he found Daryl sitting and shivering on the floor, wrapped in a blanket, his back against the bunk frame. He'd moved to the cold surface of the floor to cool off but when the chills swept through him again he'd simply been too tired to drag himself back into the bed. Daryl was awake and looked at Hershel with tired, dark, glassy eyes. The poor boy looked absolutely miserable. The Greene family patriarch approached and crouched down next to Daryl.

"Let's get you back in to bed, son," Hershel said and Daryl frowned at him, eyes unclear.

"'M not your _son_ . . . 'M a _Dixon_," Daryl said proudly, thumping his chest. But then his shoulders slumped and it seemed to Hershel that Daryl was suddenly very far away, his eyes distant. "He ne'er did call me son . . . My dad, he never . . ." Daryl went silent, lost in his own incoherent thoughts.

_Delirium,_ Hershel deduced. The high fever was obviously doing a number not only on Daryl's body but his mind as well, taking it to dark places. Hershel could empathize, his own troubles with an alcoholic father coming to the surface. But Daryl wasn't the sharing type and Hershel knew what he said wasn't something the younger man would normally give up in casual conversation or want to talk about. So Hershel said nothing and stood to retrieve the drink he'd brought, hoping the elderberry tea would help reduce the fever and ease Daryl's suffering a bit.

"Here, drink this then we'll see about getting you back into bed alright?"

Daryl nodded and sipped at the drink slowly. Hershel waited patiently until the cup was completely empty before helping Daryl back into bed and covering him with a blanket. Daryl was out like a light again and Hershel hoped he got some good rest.

When dawn arrived and Carol went in to check on him, Daryl was still sleeping but she was disappointed to see that it didn't seem to be too restful. He was tossing and turning, his breathing labored, and coughs continued to wrack his body. When she placed a hand on his forehead he flinched away, whimpering. It seemed he was suffering from another nightmare and from what she'd felt, he was still burning up.

"Daryl, wake up," Carol called softly, nudging his shoulder. Daryl's eyes opened and met hers, glossy and unclear; she could tell his mind was still in another place. Pale, sweaty, and shaky he rolled onto his side as a severe coughing fit consumed him.

The muscles in his chest and stomach seized with painful spasms and he was sure his throat was bleeding it felt so raw. Fluid was building up in his lungs, making him cough in an attempt to get it out but it only had him heaving and retching. What little he'd had to eat came back up and found its way onto the bed. Carol did notice that he wasn't vomiting up blood yet; the coughing was just upturning his stomach. Daryl whimpered and looked up at Carol with wide, fearful blue eyes.

"'M sorry . . . Din' mean to . . ." he looked away, shame clear on his face and Carol's heart broke. He was sick and he was _afraid_. Afraid that he was in _trouble_. Carol realized his mind was still playing tricks on him; he wasn't seeing her but someone else. She prayed that he wouldn't remember any of this; she knew Daryl hated being in a vulnerable position and she was afraid this might be too much for him.

"It's alright, you didn't do anything wrong," Carol soothed. "I'm going to help you get cleaned up and then you're gonna get some rest, okay?" Daryl nodded slowly, still refusing to make eye contact. "I'll be right back."

If they didn't get him cooled down soon this fever was going to kill him. Carol hurried to the other side of the cellblock where Hershel was tending to another patient.

"He's still burning up and vomited," Carol said and Hershel could hear the edge in her voice. She was extremely worried.

"Guess we need to try something else then," he stood and walked down the hall, pushing a stretcher along in front of him; Carol followed. "We're gonna take him to the showers. I need you to tell Glenn to get the generators going for some hot water and get the others outside while we move him," Hershel commanded as he wheeled the stretcher into Daryl's cell.

Carol nodded and helped him get Daryl onto the stretcher before finding Glenn and telling everyone to clear out.

-TWD-

**A/N:** Delirium, I love it. Because what's better than being sicker than a dog and reliving your worst nightmares _at the same time_? I know, I'm so mean to my favorite characters, ha ha. Ah well.

Given how egregiously long this was getting, decided to break it up into two parts.

Would love to know your thoughts. Pretty please?


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Welcome to part two!Hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the characters; I am merely borrowing them and will return them when I'm done.

**A Better Tomorrow**

"Now's not the time to be worryin' about his modesty, Carol," Hershel chastised her gently. They hadn't even gotten around to undressing him yet and he could tell she was hesitating. "Get his shirt off and I'll work on his pants," he offered, placing a hand under the running shower water to check the temperature. Daryl was barely coherent, drifting in and out of consciousness on the stretcher.

Carol glanced at Hershel and nodded but that didn't stop her from draping a towel over Daryl's lap as the old veterinarian tugged his jeans down. Carol unbuttoned his shirt and Hershel helped Daryl lean forward so she could get it over his shoulders and down his arms. Once he was free of clothing they pushed the stretcher under water. Daryl gasped and lurched as the lukewarm water hit his skin; it felt ice cold to his fevered flesh.

"_The hell_?" The shock seemed to bring him back to some lucidity.

"We're trying to cool you down, the fever's getting too high," Carol placed a hand on his shoulder to get him to lie back under the water. She used her other hand to wet a washcloth and ran it down his arm and leg while Hershel did the same on his left side, reaching the areas the shower stream wasn't hitting directly.

Upon noticing his state of undress Daryl got really uncomfortable but he was thankful one of them had thought to save a shred of his dignity with the towel over his lap. Once he had been sufficiently cooled, Hershel shut off the water and Carol handed Daryl a dry towel before leaving to retrieve some new clothes.

When they got him redressed and back to his cell, Carol made quick work of stripping and remaking the bed. She saw him flush and knew he remembered getting sick but she just gave him a gentle smile before helping him back into bed.

Daryl had to admit he did feel a little better after that shower. He could still feel pressure in his chest and he was still really weak but he didn't feel like he was boiling from the inside out anymore.

Hershel gave him some more elderberry tea in the hopes of keeping the fever down before he and Carol left him to rest. The afternoon passed uneventfully, Daryl managed to get decent sleep and eat some more soup that Carol brought down for him but it was still getting harder to breath and coughing kept his throat raw.

As long as the fever stayed down, Hershel and Carol were hopeful that the sickness would remain stable until Rick and his group could return with meds.

-TWD-

_It was a beautiful early fall day in the mountains of northern Georgia. The leaves were starting to turn, a cool breeze swam through the trees, warm sunlight filtered through the canopy above him. Daryl crept silently through the forest, crossbow at the ready, and eyes on his prey. He'd been tracking it for days, a large ten-point buck. Merle and him were gonna eat good tonight._

_With a soft 'thunk' he released a bolt and the buck scrambled away but it was too late, the arrow had struck his heart. Daryl patiently followed the trail of blood; he frowned when he noticed it got thick and black the closer he got to the dying animal. By the time he caught up to it, the deer was dead; Daryl pulled his knife to drain and gut it._

"_What the fuck?" He nearly gagged when he cut it open. It smelled of rotten meat, already half decayed as if the buck had been dead awhile. Daryl had no clue what was happening and quickly hiked his way back to the camp site for Merle._

"_Merle?" he called before the sickening stench of burning flesh hit his nose._

_Daryl walked into the clearing, he could hear sizzling coming from the frying pan over the fire. What the hell was his brother cooking? When he approached he recoiled in horror at the sight of his brother's sawed off hand in the pan, a bloody saw on the ground next to the pit. Both the sight and smell was too much; Daryl found himself heaving up breakfast. That's when he noticed it. Blood._

_A trail of it leading from the fire to their tent. He approached slowly, cautiously, a forgotten memory buzzing in the back of his head; Daryl knew what he would find in that tent. Still didn't prepare him to see it a second time._

_Merle was dead, gunshot wound to the chest. But cold blue eyes were staring at him and Merle growled, stumbling towards his younger brother. Daryl's chest and throat tightened in pain. __**No. Please no.**__ He couldn't do this again. He turned and he ran._

_How long he ran, Daryl didn't know. But he slowed down when the mountain forest became more level and swampy. It was sticky and humid and smelled of rot. This place was familiar too._

_A sharp scream caught his attention and he took off running again, the name of who it was already on his lips._

"_Sophia!"_

_His chest burned for oxygen but he couldn't stop. He had to find her before it was too late. Her cries got louder and finally he spotted the girl. For a split second he was overjoyed, she was still alive. Their eyes met and she stopped, face going blank. A sharp pain in his side brought him to his knees. Daryl looked down to find an arrow sticking through him but he had to ignore it, he had to get to Sophia. He looked up and his heart stopped. A walker was right behind her and she still wasn't moving, just staring at him._

"_NO!" he screamed but it was too late. The walker sank its teeth into her shoulder and Sophia screamed again. Daryl stumbled towards her drawing his crossbow and killing the walker. By the time he got to her Sophia was already on the ground, skin going cold and black blood pouring from her shoulder. He scooped her up into his arms, holding her close and Sophia wrapped her arms around his neck._

"_No, no, no, no, no . . ." he moaned, "I's sposed ta get ya back to your mama." He rocked her gently for a few moments, lamenting his second failure to save her._

_Her grip got tighter and her fingers were digging into his skin, hands wrapping around his neck. She had a superhuman grip and he couldn't breathe, couldn't pry her fingers away. The burning in his chest got worse as he was starved for oxygen and he was burning up. Sophia had him on his back, undead eyes boring into his as she slowly choked him to death while he thrashed and kicked desperately-_

Carol was frantically trying to wake him as he fought, thrashing weakly and moaning her daughter's name. Daryl had taken a severe downturn that night, his fever had risen again and clearly he was having more nightmares. He was choking and coughing, pink foam spilling from his mouth.

"HERSHEL!" She yelled, hoping he'd hear her; she couldn't bring herself to leave Daryl. She pulled him onto his side to keep him from drowning on his own bodily fluids.

Finally his eyes opened but he continued to cough and heave, trying desperately to get air. She patted his back, hoping it would help clear his airway. Within a few minutes his coughing fit subsided for the time being. Daryl's eyes cleared and he was panting heavily from exertion. He was shivering and she could see the panic in his eyes from his nightmare. Carol brushed his bangs away from his forehead and smiled gently but she couldn't erase the worry from her features. Minutes later Hershel shuffled into the cell looking to her for answers.

"His coughing's worse – he's bringing up blood now."

Hershel nodded and pulled a stethoscope from around his neck to listen to Daryl's lungs. Carol helped him sit up as Hershel examined him, asking him to take deep breaths and listening.

"It sounds like you've got fluid both in and around your lungs," Hershel said once his exam was complete.

"What's that mean, Doc?" Daryl asked, voice hoarse.

"Well, there's not a whole lot we can do for what's in your lungs – that's treated with oxygen and medication we don't have. But if we can get what's around your lungs we might relieve some of the pressure and give you more time."

"How?" Carol asked.

"We go in through the back with a flexible catheter, drain it from there. I checked the infirmary here and it does have what we need as far as supplies but I'm afraid we don't have anything to numb the area," Hershel responded, giving Daryl a long look.

"Figures," Daryl sighed, nodding at the older man, giving his consent. Hershel nodded and left to retrieve the supplies. "Ya don' gotta stay for this," he said quietly, glancing at Carol. She'd seen too much already.

"Do you _want_ me to go?" She asked. Carol was there for the long haul but if he didn't want her there, she would respect that. Daryl was silent for a long time and Carol figured that was his answer. Disheartened, she turned to leave but instantly felt his warm hand around her wrist.

"No," his voice was even quieter. He was worried for her safety but he wanted her there. Needed her there. She'd held his hand through it this far and he needed that support. Carol smiled softly and sat down next to him until Hershel returned.

-TWD-

They had him shirtless and sitting up with a pillow clutched to his chest, leaning over a tray table. Carol sat in front of him and Hershel was behind him preparing what he needed. Daryl was just trying to keep his breathing level and praying he didn't start coughing. He shuddered when Hershel placed his fingers on his back, counting the ribs until he found the right spot in the middle of his back, a few inches left of the spine. Hershel picked up a lance, preparing to break skin.

"First I'm going to make a small cut before inserting the-"

"Cut the play by play doc an' jus' do it," Daryl interrupted. He had no desire to know the specifics, feeling it would be enough.

Hershel nodded and placed the lance at the correct spot before pressing it into the skin, making a tiny puncture wound. Carol noticed Daryl's face barely flinched but she could see his shoulders getting tense in anticipation and placed her hand over one of his. His eyes met hers briefly before they snapped shut again when Hershel began to gently press a thin, flexible white tube into his back, the catheter.

Daryl could feel the catheter sliding through every millimeter of flesh and he'd give anything for the procedure to be over. The deeper it went the more his face twisted in pain; eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched. His hands were shaking in an effort to keep the rest of himself still, fingers digging into the tabletop and knuckles going white. He kept his breathing shallow in an effort to move as little as possible.

"Just a little bit more," Hershel said, offering what little comfort he could until he'd gone in as far as possible.

Using a syringe, he attached it to the catheter and began to pull the plunger back until the syringe started to fill with a transparent red fluid. Once he got the draining process started, Hershel removed the syringe and replaced it with a tube, letting the fluid drain into a large empty mason jar.

"All we can do now is wait until that jar is full. It probably won't take more than a few minutes," Hershel said, sitting back and cleaning up the used supplies, tossing them into the trash.

Daryl couldn't stop the high-pitched keening sound from escaping his throat, tears of pain pricking his eyes. The catheter was a knife in his back and the minutes felt like _days. _Every breath was agony. He didn't know how much more he could take between the coughing, nightmares, fever, and now this procedure. He hadn't been reduced to tears of pain in a long time.

Carol's heart ached for him. She squeezed his hand looking up at Hershel who nodded, telling her the jar was nearly full.

"It's almost over, okay?" Carol stroked the top of his hand with her thumb. His eyes opened to look at her, they were shining with pain but he managed a small nod for her.

He let out a small gasp when Hershel began to slowly pull the catheter from his back. The pressure was easing up until Daryl felt he could take a full breath again. Hershel pressed a cotton ball to the small wound and then covered it with a band aid. It still ached and stung but the pain was more manageable now.

Daryl collapsed on the bed, exhausted and still shaking. Carol drew the covers over him while Hershel cleaned up the rest of the supplies and left to retrieve some more elderberry tea for his resurging fever.

Daryl fell asleep right away but Carol didn't leave his cell that night. She knew starting to cough up blood was the turning point for the sickness. Even though she hoped draining some of the fluid would help, she couldn't leave him.

It was still very early in the morning when Daryl's coughing returned. He was heaving, eyes watering, desperately trying to cough up the liquid in his lungs. It was a bloody mess. Daryl's entire torso was on fire, muscles and bones screaming in protest with each painful cough. He was choking, barely able to get enough air, and blood trickled down his chin. His eyes were wild in panic and Carol called for Hershel again.

To her horror, Daryl's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he passed out from lack of oxygen. Panic gripped her and she shook him desperately.

"No, no, no, don't do this!" She moaned. "Please don't go," a sob found it's way out of her throat, "Please don't leave me." Tears streamed down her face as she turned him onto his side to once again keep him from drowning. She loved her entire prison family but Daryl was special. He was her person. And she was his. Carol wasn't ready to let go, she didn't think she'd ever be.

Hershel returned, intubation kit in hand. Carol helped to hold Daryl down and keep his mouth open until the tube was shoved down his throat. Hershel showed her the appropriate sequence for manual breathing before letting her take over. He squeezed her shoulder in a comforting gesture.

"They should be back soon," he said quietly. Carol nodded at him, grateful for his positive perspective.

-TWD-

"_C'mon, little brother, time ta git up"_

_Daryl almost smiled at that familiar voice. But his eyelids were heavy and he was warm and comfortable in the darkness, he didn't want to leave. He started to sink back into it but Merle punched his shoulder._

"_Hey! Boy I told ya it's time ta git up. Open them eyes 'fore I pry 'em open," Merle growled but Daryl could hear the smile in his voice._

"_Tired, bro," he mumbled, eyes cracking open. Merle was sitting beside him and he was still in the prison cell but it was warmer and lighter somehow._

"_Tha's too damn bad. I din' die so you's could check out early, little brother. Git that ass up 'fore I kick it back to the world a' the livin.' Ya ain't done yet," Merle placed his hand over Daryl's arm in a much too gentle gesture. "Go on, git!" He snapped before poking Daryl in the elbow with something sharp-_

Daryl's eyes opened and Carol was sitting beside him, hand on his arm as Hershel put in an IV. Looked like the meds had finally arrived. Carol smiled at him, eyes shining with relief to see him awake again. He managed to smile in return, moving his free hand to cover hers.

"Welcome back," she said softly.

-The End-

**A/N:** I did my own little take on how they handled the flu in its latter stages, trying to make it different instead of repeating the show. That procedure is called pleural effusion and I may have taken some creative liberties for the purposes of this fic. I'm so terrible, I swear. At least I didn't kill him though, right?

Would love to know your thoughts.


End file.
